Despite the best intentions, the weekend was a bit of a write-off, and apart from a brief interlude with an old mate to tell each other bawdy tales about breaking wind, the rest of the time was more about flat than flatulence.
My mate, an 83-year-old American, and I have been friends for decades, the first half of our friendship being spent working together.
We have often shared jokes about farts and farting and inspired each other to buy fart machines.
In my wayward youth, I once propped a blow-up love doll in our boss’s seat with a remote-controlled fart machine. Each person that entered the office would be greeted with a raucous thunder of automated farts, and the weekend work crew were in fits of laughter.
His parting (yes, with a “p”) gift was a copy of an essay by Benjamin Franklin, a delightfully funny man who always makes me wonder why so many Americans are humorless. Franklin’s essay was about farting.
But we are getting old. My mate’s wife has already passed, many of our mutual friends are gone, and we are losing our physical and mental faculties. Well, at least I am. He is only losing his hearing.
He was a great inspiration for me as a younger man and we have been through a lot. In my deepest, darkest days, he was there for me. I have no way to repay that kindness.
Didn’t help on the weekend, either. I got lost on my way there, turning up nearly an hour late. And I forgot my money, which I had hidden from the resident dinosaur and her urge to tear any kind of paper into strips (with a particular fondness for banknotes, history suggests).
Thankfully, my mate had me covered (yet again). But my forgetfulness put paid to the rest of the night’s activities and I returned home for an early night.
Sunday turned into a bit of a mess. Our jacaranda tree looks to have succumbed to winter frosts. I spent much of the morning looking for ways to rescue her (only time will tell, it seems). Then it was a shopping trip by bike at Mrs. Kangaeroo speed, packing up and the day was over. I did manage to get a gallery full of wattle photos, though.
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